The Hive
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "Everywhere we go, they want to kill humans. When will we find a group of nutcases who want to kill something that isn't human? Like flowers or the Welsh?" - The crew wake up to find theirselves confined to quarters, with no memory of the past few weeks. The truth soon starts to make itself known however, when they discover the sheer amount of smeg they've gotten theirselves into.


**The Hive  
**

(A/N) Y U KEEP ON GETTING SIDETRACKED?

I just want to say now, Red Dwarf was my CHILDHOOD, and to this day I watch it constantly. I consider myself a Dwarfer at heart, owning all of the novels, episodes, some special behind the scenes books, and now?

A fic!

I've actually been planning on releasing a Red Dwarf fic for a considerable amount of time, but life in general as well as shoddy ideas held me back. I finally settled on this idea whilst watching the episode "Kryten" (One of my least favourite episodes), during the scene where they discovered that the crew of the Nova 5 are all dead.

The original plan was for Kryten to have actually murdered the crew of the ship, and his distress call was all part of a plan to take the Dwarfers hostage, but that evolved into what you're about to witness...

So, buckle up and get ready for a ride!

WARNING: Terrible attempts at comedy, some violence, bad language, bland plot points and OOC Characters as per usual!

**Chapter One: Reveille**

The first thing that Lister noticed was a stabbing pain in his right arm. He didn't really take much notice of it at first, assuming that he had his usual bout of repetitive strain injury following a pleasurable visit to the shower. He then recalled that the ship's water supply had been low for the past month, and that he'd sacrificed his daily shower to save what remained for use in making Pot Noodles.

He couldn't stand those disgusting things, but they did manage to cover up the smell of his sock basket.

But he couldn't smell any scorching noodles. He couldn't even detect the sharp odour of his bed sheets. All he could smell was the unmistakable stench of carbon and ash.

_Somebody had fired a Bazookoid._

Suddenly he felt an urge to try and get up, but his attempts were in vain as his arms stubbornly refused to listen to his orders. They were likely on strike for his blatant disrespect towards their hygiene and care, but Lister had a business to run. Ignoring their protests like a Prime Minister introducing new tax bills, he heaved and strained forcefully.

It was either a trickle of sweat, blood, or Tabasco sauce he felt drooling down from his forehead as he grunted, yet either way he wasn't entirely pleased. Eventually his arms slingshotted towards him, and he flew back in his place and slammed his head on the ceiling.

"Smeg!" He squealed, punching the wall. His fist blunted a poster with the familiar sensation of holes and peeled corners all over it.

_He was in his bunk._

He smiled in relief, resembling a chimp that'd just been lent a pile of poop and a roll-up. Rubbing his cranium gently with greasy palms, he flipped his pillow over and flopped back into bed.

It took him a moment to recall that the area smelt like the latter half of the Glastonbury Festival, and he rose up again a bit more carefully.

"Rimmer?" He whispered, knocking the base of his top bunk to try and grab his attention. His eyes were caked in the filthy crust of a sixteen hour night, and he struggled to try and tear them open. "_Rimmer!"_

_No response._

He felt something sharp up his nose, and blew air in an attempt to dislodge it. Shoving a digit up and retrieving the gem of a snot chunk, he reached under his bunk and flicked it down at his bunkmate.

_Again, no response._

He considered pulling out some Rasta Billy Skank albums, which would probably wake the entire ship up let alone the heavy sleeping Rimmer. Groaning with reluctance, he swung his legs out from under his comfortable curry-stained covers and dangled them over the edge of the chilly military-grey bunk.

He let them swing for a moment, trying to give Rimmer a whiff to rose him from his slumber. When he realised that wasn't getting him anywhere, he hopped down and landed on bent knees.

_... He had intended at least._

His foot slipped as he landed on the deck, sending him flat down on his face with a loud thud. Rolling around as he gritted his teeth, he realised that something was on his feet.

_And Rimmer was missing._

Gripping onto his agonising foot, he studied the device that seemed to be clamped onto his soles. It resembled the bottom of a cheap sandal, like the type that middle-aged mothers wore to try and look young. It was dyed a jet-black, a number of tiny micro-claws digging into his flesh securely and tightly.

Whatever it was, it had killed the function of his legs in seconds. Scanning his arms, he realised they too had gone dead, and possessed large bracelets that would put Christian Aid to shame. The bracelets had a similar make-up to the sandal soles, small claws lining the edges and jabbing into his wrists. His limbs were all numb, feeling non-existent.

_Picture a shower with these things, you'd use up the year's water-supply!_

Turning his attention to the issue at hand, he tried to catch a glimpse of Rimmer's bunk again. With no control of his extremities, he had to swing his neck around painfully to try and shift himself to the left, like a beached fish trying to flop its way back to the ocean.

The blanket was neater than a Croquet player's haircut, but being Rimmer's bunk it was usually like that. He often spent more time fixing his bed layout than he did talking to people before the crew was wiped out, but with a social life like his that was hardly an achievement. To be honest, he probably spent more time puking than he did speaking.

A drunken night could've explained his amnesia over the events of the last few days, but the cuffs and shackles that confined him had no reasonable explanation. Unless he'd agreed to a shambolic BDSM session with someone again, he was out of reasons.

Suddenly he heard a voice, sounding muffled, "Mr. Lister, is that you?". The distinctive accent of Kryten was easy to recognise, but he wondered where on Titan it could be coming from.

"Kryts? Yeah, it's me." He replied groggily, still paralysed from the neck down. He heard rattling from his sock draw, before Kryten called out again.

"Can you hear me?" He called, sounding a tad bit nervous as he usually did. "I can't see anything, my optical sensors appear to lack night vision!"

Lister recalled a recent bargain with some scavenging GELFs, who had agreed to leave them alone in exchange for Kryten's eyes, the schematics to Red Dwarf's Hydrogen Scoop and their entire supply of Dairylea Dunkables. They didn't protest to this mishmash of requests that diplomacy had settled on, and gave them the lot. Lister had managed to cobble up some replacements, but they were only on the level of a high-quality British product: They crashed regularly, lacked most features, and were generally too expensive to make.

"Hang on Kryts, keep talking." Lister growled, looking around to try and seek inspiration. His eyes settled briefly on his Jim Bexley Speed poster, and he chuckled with pride. Looking back and forth like a nervous parent at their child's first Sport's Day, he picked up speed until he finally flipped around onto his front. The floor was caked in dust, which came across to Lister as peculiar.

Kryten cleaned every single day, and the Sleeping Quarters were usually his first stop. If it was this dusty, it had to have been months since his last clean.

_What the smeg was going on?_

Spitting out the dirt and grime, as well as a chunk of mutton that must've been lodged in his teeth since last Christmas, Lister began the arduous journey of using his chin as a paddle to drag himself along with. His body dragged lazily behind him, weighing him down like a University Student's backpack.

"Are you quite all right out there Mr. Lister? You seem to be making quite a bit of noise." Kryten whispered worryingly.

"Not now Kryts." He muttered, before pulling himself another few inches forward.

"Mr. Rimmer told me that if you were grunting a lot, it just meant you should be left alone for a few minutes." Kryten began, his voice growing louder with every push. "He also told me to refrain from using my Ultra-Violet sensors for cleaning purposes too, as irritating as it may seem."

Eventually Lister reached the source of his voice, confirming that Kryten was indeed located in his sock draw.

He didn't have any tongs or a hazmat suit, but he had to get the poor smegger out from there. His arms refused his commands once more, laying there limply like a fat cat watching its owner from a distance whilst plotting to kill him.

_Speaking of cats, where could he be?_

Testing how far he could open his gob, Lister craned his neck upwards and chomped down onto the draw handle. Thankfully the draw was at ground level, and he reeled his head back to pull it open.

"Ah, I can see light at last!" Kryten chuckled calmly, spitting with force and launching a sock into the air. It landed flat on Lister's face, much to his chagrin.

"Kryts, thank god..." Lister gasped in relief, shaking his sore neck to loosen the sock. "I'm in trouble here man; I can't move anything below my neck."

"Well, that's certainly a predicament sir." Kryten sighed, legitimately saddened by Lister's misfortune. His voice suddenly became cheerful, like a school teacher trying to instil enthusiasm into their pupils. "But at least you still _have_ something below your neck!"

Lister was beaten there, and fell silent for a moment. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to regain his strength after his trek across the room. "... What the smeg is going on, Kryten?"

"Well, best guess is that we've either been attacked by some sort of alien life-form, or somebody swapped the water-supply for Dutch Lager again." Kryten said, the draw rattling continuously as he spoke.

"Any idea where Rimmer and Cat are?" Lister asked, closing his eyes. He didn't know why, but he felt a sudden sense of heaviness in his body. His arms and legs also tickled, as if blood had started rushing into them after a few hours of sitting on them.

"I'm afraid I don't know about Mr. Rimmer sir, however..." Kryten strayed off, sounding a bit unsure of himself. "I believe Mr. Cat is on top of your cupboard."

Cat often had a habit of doing that when he was displeased with something; he seemed to think it was a secure area where he could observe the room undetected. It indeed functioned well, he having caught Lister in his boxers on no less than eight occasions. Cat had insisted on getting his mind probed for possible damage after every sighting, although Lister was certain that he only dribbled upon seeing him because he was too good looking for his mind to comprehend.

_Even if Kryten had to perform surgery once._

Reluctantly Lister pulled himself from his comfortable position, spinning himself around to look up at his cupboard. He could spot that stupid pompadour and glistening gold outfit anywhere. The Cat was curled up in a ball, actually snoozing quite loudly now that Lister had noticed him. He had assumed it was just the ship's whining engines hungrily begging for more hydrogen to be pumped into its thirsty gullet.

He too had the black cuffs on him, and likely the sandal soles too. Lister wondered what would have irritated the Cat more: The fact that he couldn't move, or the fact that his cuffs didn't look good with his outfit.

"Pssst, oi!" He whispered stealthily, "Cat, wake up!"

Kryten raised his metaphorical eyebrow in confusion. "Sir, may I ask why you're whispering? We're not under any form of foreign guard, nor are there any Broadway shows on."

Lister didn't respond, but conceded to the point. "CAT! GET UP!"

The Cat didn't react as Lister had thought, as he swung his hand at him irritably. "I'm already awake, monkey."

He attempted to do a 80s-esque leap off of the cupboard top, but he didn't realise the power of the cuffs and soles until it was too late. Momentum kept him going forward, yet his limbs flailed back and forth like a shoddy ragdoll you find in car boot sales. He bounced off the deck and rolled into a crumpled heap right next to Lister and Kryten's head.

"Nice dismount, trying for the Moldovan Olympic Team?" Lister smirked, rolling his eyes mockingly. The Cat stared at his dust-coated suit, as well as the cuffs that confined him.

"Oh my god!" He moaned, his face contorting into a pathetic sob. "The hell happened to my outfit? I look like Jason Voorhees at a funeral parlour!"

"We've all got them." Lister sighed, forgetting that Kryten didn't even have his arms with him. "They've got something to do with us being paralysed."

"If I might interrupt sirs, I believe you're wearing standard issue SC Inhibitor Cuffs and Slips, used in various prison ships throughout the Space Corps." Kryten revealed, still stuck in the confines of Lister's draw. "I highly doubt that the Space Corps exists at this point, so the equipment was likely scavenged by others for use."

"Like GELFs or something?" Lister sighed, recalling their previous encounters with the numerous and varied GELF species. He still felt tingly following the ferocious snog he had shared with a Psiren years ago, and he wasn't exactly up for having another slobbering beast shoving their tongue down his throat again anytime soon.

"If we're lucky, for it could be much worse." Kryten warned sadly, a lot more nervous than he was letting on.

"What about Goal-post head, where's he gone?" Cat asked, wiggling his nose in an attempt to rid it of an itch. Kryten paused for a moment to consider his inquiry before answering.

"Well, considering that the SC containment equipment is only designed for organic lifeforms, he was likely detained by whomever our captors are using a different method. That would also explain why I'm currently lacking more limbs than a Paralympian swimmer."

"God, these shoes..." Cat whined, still trying to come to terms with their predicament. Lister thought deeply for a moment for some sort of award winning plan, but he couldn't find any up his sleeves.

And then something hit him.

"Hang on." He started, grabbing no one's attention. "I could move my arms and legs in my bunk, what if we all go in there?"

Kryten produced a curious sound before replying. "It would be a tight squeeze for you both, but there's no harm in trying." Kryten smiled, trying to fuel them with confidence. He whispered quietly following this, but not quietly enough. "Lie mode cancelled."

"Cat, you in on this?" Lister asked.

"I don't care anymore, my life is over!" He cried, his unfashionable cuffs jangling on the floor as he sobbed. "I've got nothing that could go with these damn things!"

Taking that as a yes, he began yet another perilous journey to the bunks with his jaw. It had since grown red and raw from his previous trek, and it wasn't entirely pleased with another trip.

Lister hadn't really thought about climbing into the bunk with only his chin, considering that it was simply an alcove in the wall a good foot from the ground. Thinking quickly, he turned to Cat who had taken up the rear reluctantly.

"Cat, I need your help man." Lister groaned, flattening his head on the ground. "Use my head as a boost and get your chin up there."

"And touch _your_ greasy locks? I'd slip right off, monkey-boy!" He yelled, visibly rather revolted by his demand. Lister gave him the look a Science teacher would give someone who said their job was easy.

"Come on, I'm serious here." He growled, feeling a bit light-headed. The smell of carbon was still plaguing the air, although the stench of sweat and dirt had started to smother it. "Get to it."

"Fine." He agreed, pulling himself over and straining to rest his chin on top of the Liverpudlian's head.

With a grunt Lister craned his neck as far as it could go, giving Cat some clearance to move. However, he didn't seem to move from place. Assuming that he was too low, Lister continued to push to breaking point. He'd likely become a foot taller if he kept this up, his neck stretching to inhuman limits.

"The smeg are you doing? _Go_!" He screamed, roaring in agony and gasping for air.

"Where?" The Cat asked casually.

"Where? The _bunk_ you muppet!" He growled, his neck trembling in exhaustion. The Cat nodded a few times and smiled, his canines peeking over his dark lips.

"Oh, that explains everything."

"Explains everything?" Lister repeated.

"I thought you wanted me to push down."

"_Decks one through two-hundred, matter storage surge in effect." _A voice suddenly called out through the ship's speakers. They were usually used by Holly, but the voice sounded like that of a posh middle-aged Englishwoman. It was monotone and stoic, suggesting that it was a simulated voice. "_Units will begin rally call at points Sierra-Three-Luther and Tango-Eleven-Lewisham. Additional: Inmates are advised to keep their arms to their sides and to refrain from resistance. Lethal force permitted at own discretion, announcement ends."_

With that, the two organics suddenly felt their limbs fill with power once again. It was all the better for Lister to strangle the fool of a cat that he was with, but the situation denied him such a pleasure. Hauling his aching body up on shaky knees, he stumbled towards the draw and pulled Kryten out.

"Thank you, sir." He smiled, his irises adjusting to the light. The Cat rose to his feet and dusted himself off, fixing his collar irritably.

"Who the hell was that?" Cat asked, pacing towards the source of the announcement. "Sounded like a Soap Opera star."

No sooner had the words escaped his lips did the shape of a man appear in the centre of the room. It rapidly shifted from an outline to a white silhouette to a greyscale model to the full thing.

It was Arnold Judas Rimmer.

"-nd I'll have you know that it was _Gordon_ Freeman who played God in that film!" Rimmer stopped, having likely been mid-conversation before he materialised.

"Rimmer." Lister said blandly, more disappointed than he was pleased. The man eyed the room with a grin, noting the state that Lister was in.

"Liking the look Lister, going on a date with Simon Weston?" He smirked. Lister rolled his eyes and rubbed his chin, noticing that some of his limbs had small cuts and bruises from his frantic dragging.

"Good to see you in one piece too, Rimmer." He growled. "Who were you talking to anyway?"

"Oh, you mean before now?" He asked, condescending in every gesture he made. "The leader of the psychos who took over the ship, said his name was Chaucer."

"Chaucer?" Cat chimed in, trying to look like he understood what was going on. Rimmer nodded, crossing his arms and prodding his chin.

"Pretty decent fellow, save for his habit of killing every human in the universe."

"God, _another _one." Lister groaned, tutting and leaning against the bunks. "Everywhere we go, they want to kill humans. When will we find a group of nutcases who want to kill something that _isn't _human? Like flowers or the Welsh?"

"Excuse me sirs, but there's somebody at the door." Kryten called, trying to gesture with his nose. Lister and Rimmer both twirled around to look at the door, while the Cat dug through his pockets in search for a mirror.

He was clad in all black, resembling a heavily armoured soldier. His head was vaguely human yet possessed various augments to shroud this fact, ranging from eye scanners to targeting reticules to Virgin Media satellite dishes.

It was a _Simulant_.

"Inmates one through four, crew of Red Dwarf." The Simulant said, his body motionless. "Duty begins in five units; you are to proceed to your post."

Rimmer puffed his chest up high and looked the Simulant down. It wasn't actually that tall compared to him, something that Rimmer thought was rather funny. "I think we deserve an explanation for your heinous gesture of invading our vessel, Mr...?"

"Unit Four-One-Seven-Nine. Toutatis." It said blandly.

"Yes, well... What are you doing here?" Rimmer replied unconvincingly, having lost his confidence upon noticing the rather hefty looked plasma gun the Simulant had in his leg holster.

"Standard protocol under the Simulant Star Empire. All ships are to be detained, cleansed and repurposed. All humans are to be sent to the Hive, where they are processed."

"_All _humans? What about..." Rimmer gestured to Lister, only to stop midway. He didn't hide his smirk as her turned around. "Makes sense to me, your... Magnificence."

"If you don't mind me asking Mr. Toutatis, may I know where my body is? The loss of my limbs cannot be refunded, and I do not wish such horrors to befall my benefactors."

"Your body is in containment under Q protocol, and are thus released at this time. Following the reactivation of your Inhibitors, your body shall be locked down once again. You do not need it at the moment."

"Well, I do but..."

Toutatis turned around indignantly and left through the doors. They slid close with a squeak, before locking down to the ground.

"... What a smee-hee." Kryten muttered in Lister's hands.

X

(A/N): Well, that didn't go very well :/

I do intend to write more chapters to this, opinions and advice are both appreciated! :P


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